Only Just Cause Edit 1.0 bena,dale,keith

[tectak]

Shoot the magpie for his sins; jealous, but he loves to kill nice opening
and leave the dead in disarray, splayed out like fallen, broken stars.
Shoot the sparrow for his trust, that small and close is just enough
to justify the spill of blood, the flying puff of feathered death. this probably only makes sense if you have shot a sparrow
Shoot the heron for his greed, that by his end we see ourselves
as saviours of a silent class; protection is our proclaimed aim. protection is proclaimed our aim ? your poem
Shoot the grouse that lifts and wheels across the barren places where
but for our god-like wild inserts, he would be of no value there. be of no, sounds awkward too much of a mouthfull
Shoot the eagle and the owl, the kestrel, kite and flight-shy snipe,
the crow and rook, the duck and gull and all the gloried glut of life.
But leave alone the simple man, who tied to ground exists upon
his patch of earth, his own true land, his blessed plot from time secured;
and let him keep and save himself, and guard his thoughts against the rest
by every means.For that is what a man must do, should do, can do...
and does. With such a pacey build up it seems to fall flat when you finish here, sorry I wanted more.
tectak
2014

This is great to read out loud and comes off as quite profound, I like the message it conveys around excuses and that theme certainly comes across, the internal rhymes work really well for the reader and the switch in pace at the end offers up a sense of something great is coming and does, I'm afraid does not deliver for me. Hope some of this helps.Best Keith

Hi Keith,
Hasn't everyone shot a sparrow?
Thanks for your comments. The proclaim thing. You are right. Good catch. I will change it but leave the tongue twister as I have had it both ways already.
I don't know whether I made my point about commitment verse (in reply to dale) clear enough. I coined the term many years ago to excuse those of us writing purple prose during the protest years of the sixties. Music was, up until then, about tunes. After that, it was more about words...the message. What happened? Well, we all started writing poetry that commited the writer to a single aim in every verse. It mattered less what the conclusion was, but it was important not to deviate. So we got long point-made dirges like "Where have all the flowers gone" and "Universal Soldier" and...and...well, you get it. What is the old fool chuntering about? Oh,yes. This is that...no heavy end conclusion but a commitment in every bite to get there.
Best,
tectak